6. C H E L S I E

SIX

C H E L S I E

“On Monday, he came by our dorm room. I peered at him through the peephole but pretended like I wasn’t there. Then, I saw him waiting around after your English Literature class on Tuesday. It’s like he was waiting for you to leave. By Wednesday, some of his mates approached me in the library to ask when I’d last seen you. I covered it up, but they were persistent. So persistent, Chelsie, and then on Thursday he?—”

“ Holly .” I cut my roommate's weekly debrief on Simon’s search short. “I get it.” I have to suck in a tired breath to soothe my anxiety. “Trust me, I get it.”

It’s apparent that tracking me down has seemingly become Simon’s new full-time hobby. It amazes me that this is what he’s opting to do in his free time, yet doesn’t shock me in the slightest.

A long, drawn-out sigh carries through the line as I hear Holly slump back into the stiff mattress of our dorm room. “What are you going to do, Chels?” Her voice is full of confusion yet immediately shifts to that of concern. “All of this over a break-up? I just don’t get it. Why won’t he stop? Let up?”

I bite down on my lower lip as I run a desperate hand along my brow. “This is just what he’s like, Holly,” I attempt to justify his unjustifiable behavior. “Why do you think we broke up?”

A silence falls through the line. A silence that tells me that she’s having, yet again, a hard time believing the lies I’m throwing her way.

Sure, part of what I’m saying is the truth, but there’s so much more that I refuse to get into. Besides, it’s not her burden to carry. Holly’s already swamped enough with being in her final year of uni, let alone having to navigate Simon and his dickhead crew.

“Do you at least know when you’re coming back?” Holly asks as I rush around my bedroom frantically, attempting to find my work shirt, given that my shift started almost fifteen minutes ago…

“I don’t know,” I murmur out the truth. “It depends, but based on what you’re telling me, not anytime soon.”

“What about your mail?” Holly probes as I spot my T-shirt across the room. “I’ve got like, a whole stack of things here for you.”

I throw my hair into a low ponytail and straighten out my shirt in the mirror. “I uh…” I ponder the thought, knowing damn well I won’t be stopping by the campus anytime soon to pick it up. “Think you can mail it to me?” I propose.

“I could. But that would require me to know where you are.”

I slump my shoulders, debating on what to do.

Do I tell her where I am?

I mean, she’s been looking out for me so far.

I can trust her.

She’s got my back.

I gulp. “I’m at my sister's bakery in Crawley, south of London,” I confess, regret instantly singeing my lips. “It’s called Ruby’s Bakery. I’ll text you the address, okay? Just promise me that you won’t tell anyone.” I’m firm with my request. “Promise me, Holly.”

When she doesn’t immediately agree my anxiety skyrockets. “Hello?” my voice is filled with slight impatience. “Are you there?”

“I’m here,” Holly’s voice is hardly above a whisper as I make a bee-line down the stairs, slam the front door shut, and fiddle with my keys to lock up. “I won’t tell anyone, Chelsie. I promise.”

I’m comforted with an immediate sense of relief. “Thank you,” I tell her, typing out the address as I speed walk down the pavement and hit send. “I just texted you. Did you get it?”

“I got it. But Chelsie?” Holly’s back to using that worried tone from earlier. “Why do I feel like there’s something I’m missing? Do you want me to call your parents? I can explain to them how Simon is being with you, and maybe they can?—”

“No,” I plead, cutting her concern short. “Please, I promise that this is temporary. This will all calm down soon, and then I’ll be back. My parents can’t know, Holly. They can’t…”

Every time she speaks, I seem to shoot her down, so much so that it doesn’t shock me when the line goes quiet.

“Listen…” I steady my voice. “I’m just walking to the bakery now, so I’ll talk to you soon, okay?”

“Okay,” she responds in defeat. “Talk soon.”

I end the call.

This double life is exhausting, but wholeheartedly, it’s the only thing that makes me feel like I’m on track to finding myself again.

You know, the girl before Simon.

The girl that I know is still inside of me.

That always has been.

I just need to pull her back out.

I will pull her back out.

One step at a time, I continue to race my way down the pavement, pacing myself with each stride until finally I reach the front of the bakery.

The door jingles as I abruptly swing it open—prompting all eyes to fall on me. There’s a line-up of what must be over eight people waiting to be served and behind the counter? One single person trying their absolute best to work as quickly as possible— Ruby.

Remorse floods my chest as I meet her tired eyes.

“Well, look who finally decided to show up.” Ruby places her hands on her hips, her voice playful yet stern as she momentarily follows me into the back kitchen.

“I’m so sorry!” I’m quick to apologize, wasting no time wrapping an apron around my waist and washing my hands. “I had trouble sleeping last night, and then this morning, one thing led to another and?—”

“Don’t worry about it.” Ruby places a soothing hand on my shoulder, easing my frantic state before steadying me in place. “You’re here now,” she grounds me. “Besides…” She peers back over to the front of the shop. “It only just got busy. There’s a big football match happening in town today, and lots of supporters want a quick treat from the best bakery in town before they go. Think you can help them out?”

I flash her a warm smile. “Of course.”

Five minutes.

Four minutes, 59 seconds.

Four minutes, 58 seconds.

Four minutes, 57 seconds.

The last five minutes of any day are always my favorite to count down from, especially when I know that I’m going into the weekend.

Since arriving in Crawley, Ruby has always given me Saturdays off. Sure, I don’t do much, but Saturdays are my time to rest, reset, and, most importantly, focus on me .

While I was in school, I’ve been trying my best to re-ignite some of my old passions—ones that took a back burner. But now that I actually have some time to myself, I’ve slowly but surely been ticking each one off my list.

Number one: reading.

In the past month alone, I’ve read over thirty novels. Once upon a time, I loved romance, but now I’m diving into other genres instead. I don’t want to read about Romeo and Juliet. Give me gore, give me horror, give me anything but happily ever after. I’m not in a headspace to think about that right now.

Number two: running.

There’s nothing quite like having music blasting through your eardrums as you jog around the picturesque countryside. The campus had some of the best routes to run, but if I’m being honest, Crawley is a close second. I’m even starting to discover new spots for myself…

And finally, number three: Hanging out with friends.

Number three has posed to be a challenge. All of my friends are back at the campus, Holly included, and being the newbie in town has proven difficult when it comes to mastering the friendship game.

Nine times out of ten, the people who walk through this bakery are older—retirees or maybe those with small families. Very rarely do I get a plethora of twenty-something-year-olds rolling through my door, and even if I do, they don’t care about becoming my friend. They care about sinking their teeth into a pastry.

I suppose there are some exceptions. Sometimes said twenty-something-year-olds drop a whole cake over themselves and beg for your help. Not sure that quite constitutes a friendship though.

What was his name again? Gary ?—

The chimed rattle against the front door darts my attention away from the clock as I watch a mum with her son step inside.

What did I tell you?

“Hi,” my voice is cheerful as always, even more so given that these are likely the last customers of the day. “Welcome to Ruby’s Bakery. What can I get started for you?”

“Hiya,” the mum speaks up. “We’d like to get two loaves of white bread thickly sliced and a chocolate chip biscuit.” She peers down at her son, who stands to her right. “Please, and thank you.”

“Coming right up.” I nod my head agreeably, reaching for the final two loaves of bread that line the shelf. “You’re lucky.” I smile, walking them toward the slicer. “These are my last loaves of the day.”

The mum smiles back, a look of relief washing over her face. “We meant to stop by earlier,” she explains. “But we were running late to the game. Thought we’d test our luck after.”

I nod, bagging each of their loaves as they make their way through the slicer. Only when I peer back over at them that’s when I take into account the fact that they’re both dressed the same.

“Do you like my jersey?” the young boy asks, smiling wide as he points proudly down towards his chest.

I place the freshly sliced loaves on the countertop, propping myself up onto my tiptoes so that I can peer down at the logo on the front:

Crawfield Football Club.

“Rowan’s a big footy fan,” his mum exclaims, pulling him in close. “Aren’t you, Ro?”

Rowan nods his head eagerly as I reach for his biscuit in the display cabinet.

“So, does that mean you’re going to be a footballer one day?” I ask, handing his mum the treat, a smile looming over her lips as she notices the extra one I snuck inside the bag with a wink.

“Yes! I want to play for Crawfield one day,” Rowan cheers excitedly. “They’re my favorite team ever .”

It’s just precious—seeing the way a child’s eyes light up at the mention of their dreams. The look on Rowan’s face is part of the reason why I want to go into teaching so badly. I want to be a part of the joy a child has when they learn. I want to encourage them to explore their passions, academic or not. Because frankly, there is nothing greater in life than knowing what you want and chasing after it.

“Well then, I can’t wait to see you play one day,” I tell him with a nod of encouragement, looking back over at his mum to cash her out at the front. “How was the game?” I can’t help but wonder, curious just how good Rowan’s favorite team really is.

“Close match,” his mum recalls. “But they won. Two-one. They’re having an amazing season so far. We’ve been lucky enough to go to every game, haven’t we, Ro?”

Rowan nods with a big munch on the biscuit.

“Really?” I question, accepting the notes from her hand as I make change. “I can only imagine how expensive that must be.”

“It is, but thankfully, Rowan’s best friend, Georgie, well, Georgie’s older brother is the captain of Crawfield and paid for us all to get season passes. Had he not, we wouldn’t have been able to afford it.”

My heart warms at the gesture as I hand her her change, smiling wide as Rowan licks the chocolate from his lips. “Wow. That’s really sweet.” I can’t help but admit. “He sounds like a really generous guy.”

“Oh, he is,” she agrees. “He’s everyone's favorite in town. He even got us these jerseys, too. A real catch if you ask me.”

“Is he single?” I jokingly remark. “If so, tell him to give me a ring.”

The woman looks me up and down before reaching gently for Rowan’s hand. “You know, I’m sure he’d like that,” she laughs, peering down at Rowan. “What do you say to the nice lady, Ro?”

“Thank you,” Rowan cheers between bites. “You’re the best, Chelsie !”

I’m taken aback by his use of my name until I catch a glimpse of him staring at my name tag.

“He’s practicing his reading skills.” His mum chuckles softly. “But thank you, Chelsie. You’ve been great. Really.”

“Just doing my job.” I smile, flashing them a final wave goodbye, yet when they turn around and make their way out of the store, that’s when I see it.

Plastered alongside the back of both Rowan and his mum’s jerseys is a name. A name I was trying to remember from earlier. A name that now, all of a sudden hits me like a ton of bricks.

Wilkinson.

Gary Wilkinson.